6. Evelyn

There"s subtlety in the intimacy of Alessandro standing against the wall, desperate to stop his erection from growing. It"s a reminder that as powerful as he is, he"s losing it every minute we stay in this room together. I have to agree with him, however. I"m not ready to finish anything intimate.

The way he kisses me makes me feel like we"re the only people left in the world, like I"ll always only belong to him. But something still pulls at me for his rule about allowing him to be affectionate. I thought I was allowing him to be close. I guess love is like everything else in my life. I"ll never be quite good enough.

Not good enough to be as good of a daughter as Shana and not good enough to be the wife of Alessandro De Luca. It doesn"t seem to matter that we"re already married. I push myself off the bed, my eyes still taking in everything around me.

The exposed brick walls, the large platform bed, the storage bench full of naughty toys, and one of the most powerful men in the country is staring at me like he"s waiting to tear me out of my clothes. Thankfully, my stomach growls loud enough for both of us to hear.

There"s a glimmer of a smirk on his face as Alessandro holds his hand out to me. I take it, and he nods with approval.

"Good girl. Come, let"s get you fed."

We take the elevator to the first floor and step out into the kitchen.

"Is that the only way to get in and out of the basement?" I ask him.

Alessandro shakes his head. "No. This house used to hide runaway slaves and then transport liquor during Prohibition. There"s a few cool tricks I kept in place after I renovated it. Like a secret staircase that drops down from a hatch under the steps. The bed down there lifts up like a Murphy bed. A tunnel lets you out about two blocks away, into the bathroom of a dry cleaner."

"I was wondering how you managed to get these properties in the vineyard."

He chuckles. "You have my great-grandfather to thank for that. When he and my Nonna came here from Sicily, they helped the man who owned this house. Nonna cleaned, and he helped the guy with his law practice. My great-grandfather and his daughter inherited this house. They found the tunnels and decided to buy the building where the tunnel let out."

"That"s so cool. Our real estate company would have sold this place for millions," I tell him.

He nods, opening the refrigerator to pull out an empty glass, but he turns to a drawer in the countertop to grab some takeout menus.

"You have all of that food in the fridge, Alessandro. Don"t you cook?" I ask him.

"Never have the time." He shrugs. "I"m going to make myself a drink. What would you like?"

"To make us something to eat. I don"t drink much, still on Shirley Temples from when I was a kid. Don"t judge me, I love the maraschino cherries."

"No judgment," he replies with a grin. "I think we can have some fun with cherries."

Heat rises to my cheeks, I"m sure turning the same red as those cherries I like so much.

"Rules, Alessandro, remember the rules," I remind him before stepping toward the pantry and fridge. Cucumbers, onions, and tomatoes will do nicely. Fresh chicken cutlets and pasta can give us something hearty. I grab the ingredients, along with butter and fresh garlic. A gorgeous ceramic cruet catches my eye. Perfect, olive oil is exactly what I need to pull it all together.

It"s ornate with delicate watercolor paintings of olives against a backdrop of the Old Country. When I reach out to see how much oil is in it, Alessandro steps behind me, touching my hand to stop me.

"Don"t touch that, please." The command is stern, but I can tell he"s not angry. The sadness behind those eyes is enough for me to listen.

"I"m sorry. It"s beautiful. My mother has one that she keeps olive oil in."

"That one is empty. It belonged to my mother. I"d rather you not use it. There"s fresh olive oil in the pantry."

I want to ask him about his mother. The rumors about Mrs. De Luca circulated around La Familia like a story mobsters told their kids at bedtime. She was killed in a car bomb or something like that.

My father talks about it every so often to remind my mother to pay attention to her surroundings. It makes me think of Alessandro"s observation. I"m so used to Jenkins and my father that I rarely find myself observant of things happening around me. Things need to change. I need to change.

For now, I concentrate on putting together a respectable dinner. Alessandro hangs around the kitchen, making me a drink and scrolling through his phone. There"s a moment where he comes over to see what I"m making.

"That smells delicious, Evelyn. Do you always cook like this?" he asks.

"At first, I"d just help my mother in the kitchen. Sunday dinners and all that, you know? Now, I do almost all the cooking. I imagine she"s not exactly happy that she"ll have to get back into the kitchen."

"You"re not my prisoner, mio dolce. I only want you here for appearances. You can still live your life as you were, except Lorenzo will be escorting you until I can clear Jenkins. Where do you work?"

The question takes me by surprise. "I don"t exactly clock in anywhere. I"m usually at home to look after my niece and nephew. I love cooking and baking, but I don"t do it professionally."

"Would you like to?" he asks. His curiosity is genuine. I can see the wheels in his mind turning. Outside of being a Mafia underboss, I know Alessandro has good business sense.

"What do you mean? Like opening a restaurant or something?" I ask him. I"d never thought about it before. "Can you tell Lorenzo to come and eat, please?"

Alessandro eyes me with a familiar boy-like gaze reminiscent of my nephew, who doesn"t like to share. It takes him a beat to oblige, sending Lorenzo a text, who joins us with subtle joy in his eyes.

"We usually have to go to Donofrio"s for cooking like this. Thank you, Mrs. De Luca." Lorenzo takes the plate I"ve made for him, and with a quick bow of his head, he leaves to return to his duties.

"Normally, we sit down for dinner, and what do you want to do about Sunday dinner?" I ask Alessandro.

"Sunday dinner?" he parrots me.

"Yes. No one"s going to believe we"re married if we"re not hosting Sunday dinner. Usually, it"s at my father"s house. My sister brings the kids… and whoever the macchia di merda wanted to impress while giving my father access to his political connections. At least one Sunday out of the month is huge. All the other days were just family."

"We can make that happen. My Zio"s place on Staten Island is big enough for both families to get together. I"m sure he won"t be against it since this treaty was his idea in the first place."

That strikes a nerve. "You didn"t want to marry me?"

He tips his head with a glimmer of a smile. "Don"t be that way, mio dolce. You know just as well as I do that if this marriage were one of our doing, all these rules and this awkward getting to know you stage would have passed long ago. Now, if we"d actually known each other and dated, there"s a possibility it could have led to marriage. Either that or you"d be so horrified by what I like, you"d run screaming for the hills."

Flashes of the playroom make me shudder with angst and a hint of lust. Fantasies of us finishing that kiss make me wonder just how sordid his imagination can get. Maybe he"s just trying to scare me away from pursuing the conversation. I don"t know, and I"m happy to move on.

"I doubt that, but going to Staten Island can work. Maybe I can swing by Top Gott at some point to see my sister. Shit, I should have asked her if she wants the kids to come."

"I doubt that," Alessandro says between bites. He closes his eyes a moment, savoring the food and intuitively nodding his head that it"s as delicious as I believe it is.

When I take a bite, it"s normal. Sauteed chicken over linguini with a fresh cucumber bruschetta makes me moan with delight.

"Why wouldn"t she?" I ask. Our eyes lock, and there"s a question I can see in his eyes, but Alessandro doesn"t ask me anything. He eats a few more bites, allowing this small achievement to wash over me. "I should have baked some garlic bread."

"Baked garlic bread? Here?" he asks with a chuckle.

"I mean, yeah, if I had the time, of course. I could always go to the store and buy a hero or baguette, but since I didn"t plan on getting married today, I didn"t exactly have my grocery list mapped out."

"I"m sorry, mio dolce. This was not the way you were supposed to be brought into this. Your father and Oz put this together, and I"m just being loyal to the Family. No matter how ridiculous I think it is. I—I mean, we—can make this work to our benefit."

"Dad said that Shana would have done it, no questions asked, and that"s why he didn"t bother to inform me."

"I think he didn"t tell you because if he did, you would have gotten the fuck outta here. From the way this food tastes, I"m happy you didn"t run off. I"m going to sleep good tonight."

"Speaking of sleep. I"m beat. What"s the rules on that?" I ask him.

He clears the dishes and pulls open a dishwasher cleverly built into the island. Suddenly, it feels too real, too much like married life. Faint sounds of children being chased by their cousins, my niece and nephew, stampeding around the table with Shana yelling at them to slow down. Our parents talk about the old days as Lorenzo and Jenkins watch diligently from the kitchen. It"s far too easy to picture us together.

"Mio dolce, you can sleep wherever you"d like, but I think you"d prefer the guest bedroom prepared for you. We don"t want to complicate our marriage by sleeping together, right?"

The question lingers in the air like he"s waiting for me to oppose the notion. It"s only been a few hours and my mind is all over the place. I want to cook for Alessandro because I know he has no one to make this place feel like a home. I want to bolt through the door and run away from this city and this life because this isn"t what family is supposed to do.

Arranged marriages happen all the time, but a surprise wedding to a handsome stranger isn"t the norm. This is no time to fall for the son of another Don. I already feel the pressure of my father questioning my loyalty for simply wanting an explanation prior to saying "I do."

The last thing I want is to complicate things. "You"re right. Marriage is about uniting two families to avoid mass destruction. It should never be about a man and woman sleeping together."

He stops clearing the dishes and wraps an arm around my waist with the strength of his body pulling me close. Calmness engulfs me. The danger exuding from Alessandro is frightening, and I wish for it to never be directed at me.

"Sarcasm is unnecessary, mio dolce. Appreciated, but unnecessary." His scent is a blend of soft citrus and cinnamon, searing itself into my memory as we stand in his kitchen.

The sound of his phone ringing pulls us out of whatever moment this is and takes him away from me. The departure of his energy is jarring because I never want him to let me go.

"Fuck. I"m coming. I"m coming. I"ll take care of it." Alessandro pinches the bridge of his nose as he puts his phone on the island's countertop.

"Is everything alright?"

"No," he grunts. "My father…"

My heart sinks, fearing the worst. If the De Luca family suffers a more permanent setback, this marriage might not be enough to keep our families out of the Montegnas' line of fire. "What happened? Should I get Lorenzo?"

His expression is stoic, with that scar drawing my eyes to that side of his face as he reaches up to gently stroke mine. "I"ll get Lorenzo. You should come with me. We have to get to the hospital before he kills somebody."